


Thoughts and Wishes and Godless Prayers

by Lisby (orphan_account)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Lisby
Summary: By Alex Jones, Lisby, E and Skippy. Alex visits Mulder after events of The End and one thing leads to another.





	Thoughts and Wishes and Godless Prayers

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Thoughts and Wishes and Godless Prayers by Alexa Fox

21 September 1998

Thoughts and Wishes and Godless Prayers  
by Alexa Fox  
9/6/98

RATING: M/K, NC-17 for serious m/m interaction.   
SPOILERS: Just about any Alex episode from 2nd through 5th season and The End  
SUMMARY: Alex visits Mulder after events of The End and one thing leads to another.  
DISTRIBUTION: Please ask first and keep all headings, disclaimers, summary and e-mail addy intact  
FEEDBACK: Always welcome if positive or constructive :-) Send to   
NOTES: I will warn you all--this is my first dip into the slash pond, but I have been fascinated with Alex since his first appearance. To be honest, he just wrote a lot of this himself and I typed :-) BUT, I have to thank Rachel and phyre for their inspiring stories featuring protective and very human Alex. And phyre most especially for being the best beta reader any writer could ask for. Any boo-boo's that remain are mine and mine alone.

* * *

Thoughts And Wishes And Godless Prayers  
bu Alex Fox

It's been over a day, closer to 2 actually, since I followed you home. I watched you go from the car to your building, your elegant body slumped under the weight of black Armani and defeat. For once, her hand was on your back--holding you up, supporting you as I longed to do. I know I can't now. Maybe never. Instead, I sit outside. First in the car watching your window for some sign of movement, of life... that "you" are alive. Then after several hours and too many suspicious looks from Alexandria's yuppy neighborhood watch, I move undercover of evening shadows to an alley across the street. A safer spot, where I can still see and not be seen.

I still can't see enough dammit. I need to know. Have to see with my own eyes that you are okay. That this hasn't been the final assault that has broken you, shattered you into the million shards of jagged glass. I refuse to look at my watch, to count the minutes. But the hours drag by marked by the sounds of church bells in the distance, or a line of dialogue from a late night TV host drifting from an open window. A day ticks by punctuated by the rattle of early morning garbage trucks, then wave after wave of school buses, each one flashing their thirty seconds in blood red light while the slow rise and fall of the sun over old-town style buildings draws afternoon into evening

Christ I want it to be me in there. I can only imagine the pain that's wracking your body and soul at this moment. And I want to be the one who holds you as your body shudders and writhes in rage and frustration. I need to be the one who soothes the fear, drives the sadness and fright from those haunted hazel eyes. 

That son of a bitch. He couldn't have thought of a worse way to crush you and destroy everything that ever mattered to you. He had to use fire--fearless Mulder's one paralyzing weakness. Well he didn't destroy everything. Scully's alive and well, for now. She's in there with you; that's is why I'm out here waiting, as the night sky glows the eerie yellow foreshadowing a violent spring storm. Lightening follows sometime later splitting the sky, driving torrents of rain against my clothes.

Eventually, despite my best efforts at lying, even to my self, my mind wanders to the truth. You'll want to kill me and that's okay. I need to see that in your eyes... know that they haven't taken it all from you. What have I to give will help, it's small potatoes in the scheme of the grand conspiracy, but not to you. I could have just as easily popped it in a plain brown wrapper. You'd have been a bit surprised that it wasn't this week's installment of adult entertainment that you'd expected, but you'd soon get over it and accept it for what it is. After all, you're the one who's always talking about extreme possibilities, right. So why this compulsion to deliver my package in person, knowing full well the cost? Because I just have to know that there is enough Mulder left to hate me and want me dead. I have to know it's there, see it in your hatred, feel it in your fists or his bullets. I'll pay the price--it's cheap really to know you will go on.

She must be afraid to leave you alone too, to have stayed this long. Is that a good sign? A sign that you have enough rage left that she's afraid you'll do something stupid and desperate? Or is she just keeping vigil to your body--offering warm soup, warmed over platitudes and maybe a warm shoulder?

At this moment, I hate Dana fucking Scully. I've never really felt anything against her. Nothing personal anyway. I didn't fire the shot that killed her sister. Would have stopped her abduction if there had been another way. If it hadn't meant they would have found another way to stop you. If they wouldn't have taken you instead, one way other another. I loved you, needed to protect you even then, though you would have killed me for sacrificing her life for your own.

Christ, I should have shot that son of a bitch in Canada when I had the chance. Would have dropped him right there to bleed to death, slowly and painfully, if I'd known what he was going to do, how he was going to do it. You call him Cancerman. How fucking appropriate. He *is* a malignant bastard, invading and sucking the life out of everything he touches. And he's touched you so many times. God, I need to know that there is some life left in you. I need to touch you just once more before you put a bullet in me.

Come on Scully. Leave already, for Christ sake.

The rain has let up now but I'm soaked from the water that's run beneath my collar. The pre-dawn breeze whips around me, surprisingly chilly for May, and I shiver. Maybe it's not that cold. Maybe it's just the fear and helplessness of knowing all I can do is stand here and wish. Waiting and not knowing and praying to a God I don't believe in... had been raised to believe never existed, like a good little comrade. A God who came back in fashion with the changing of the guard too late to help me now. Who'd never been there when you'd reached out to him before, giving you no reason to have faith in his existence now when you need him the most.

God Scully, please leave so I can go to him. Dammit, it should be *me* who holds you as you scream, reliving the nightmare over and over again. *Me* who washes the acrid stench of smoke and defeat from your body. *Me* who fights to find a way to cleanse it from your memories, your soul. Fucking get out of there Scully before I have to come in there and drag you out or worse. 

Just when I think I may have to do just that, the door opens and she steps out. I duck back into my alley with the rest of the garbage where I belong so she won't see me. Her shoulders are slumped in the afternoon sun and she seems ever smaller than usual. But I stay back knowing better than to misjudge her. She'd kill me without a backward glance or question to protect you. 

In that moment, we're the same and I can almost love her for loving you. She has done her best to keep you safe and sane when I can't.

When I've known all the while she didn't have a prayer against them.

She's in her car now, driving away and I watch the taillights disappear over the horizon. Still I force myself to wait and make sure that she doesn't rethink her choice and come back.

I wait an hour, enough time for her to get home and call you to make sure you're still there. Then I come out, crossing the street at last, crossing a line past whic there is no return. I'm coming to you at last and whatever happens, happens. I'll see for myself and I'll know. 

Then I can die happy.

I don't see you at first and I wonder if you've fallen asleep in the bedroom. Not damn likely. You sleep in your bed even less than I do. A sad commentary, considering I don't even have one.

Then I see just the top of your head over the arm of his sofa, a ruffled thatch of hair sticking up stubbornly. You're slipping, old friend. I'm good and I know it. Better than you at unorthodox entrances. But for you to sleep through this one... if you are asleep, that is. The thought blind-sides me and almost drops me to my knees. My stomach tightens and I can't swallow, can't breathe. I take a few cat steps closer, silent on the balls of my feet and watch, living only for that slow rise and fall of your chest.

God please, let me see it.

Oh shit... 

There it is. Up, then down, slow and rhythmic. I exhale long, doubling over, hands on my knees until I can trust myself to stand up again. And I just watch you.

Do you know how beautiful you are watch. Your face is so different, even your body, so peaceful and whole, untroubled and untouched by it all. At least until the nightmares come. I've only seen them a few times. In New York on our first case, I heard you shrieking through our adjoining door. I practically beat it down, sure that you were being killed in there. Then in Richmond after Duane Barry, before Scully, when I finally held you and soothed away the fear. Jesus how short that time was before it all went to hell. Then that first night in Tunguska, when you finally drifted off for a while, and for whatever crazy reason didn't beat me to a pulp when I came to you, butlet me love you instead, before... 

Before...

Christ Mulder, I'm so sorry. I paid in Russia too. I rub my new arm without thinking. Maybe it was enough for old betrayals, but not for this. Not for what they did to you this time.

When I came to your apartment a few weeks ago, I vowed I'd never hurt you again, never let them hurt you again. I even sealed that vow with a kiss, not that you had any idea that's what I was doing. I could tell by your expression, you had no clue. You thought I was fucking with your head, again and that was fine. It wasn't the time to explain. Was a hell of a lot easier than trying, too. No matter how much I wanted to, feeling the prickly stubble and warm skin beneath my lips, seeing the brown--green swirls disappear as your pupils dilated with surprise. I could have pinned you to the floor right there and fucked your brains out. God knows I wanted to. Looking back, maybe I should have. Maybe things would have ended differently. Maybe it would have given me the guts to shoot the bastard who did this to you, rather than drive him to your door.

You release a deep sigh and roll to your side. I can see your eyes now, closed, still tired but not red or swollen. Out of character, given all you've lost these last 2 days. Maybe it's a good thing, that you're not as bad as I feared or maybe you've just run out of tears.

I sense the change before I see it. A tension rippling the air around you, then ripping through your body. Your muscles tighten, then lock, body tight--ready to fight. Your face hardens, then contorts in fear. You thrash and whimper, fighting for air. Words escape your lips, Words like "Scully" in a tone I know too well, filled with fear. Then "fire", shrieked with terror. Then incredibly, "Alex" in that same desperate tone. I am stunned. Could you actually care that I might have been consumed in the flames I'd helped ignite? You thrash and buck against the couch, fighting phantom flames and smoke, struggling for each breath. Only you, Mulder could have nightmares so realistic that they could kill you.

"Mulder," I call gently, then louder grabbing your shoulder, shaking hard. "Mulder, come on, wake up."

Dammit, stop fighting your dream demons and come back to me. I sit on the edge of the couch. Your face is so... Jesus, it's killing me to see that terror in your open eyes. 

Roughly I grab you against me. "Mulder, damn it--wake up." I shake you hard, all the time holding you tight against me. "Come on, breath, dammit."

Finally, my shouts and shaking penetrate your nightmare and you gulp several lungs' full of air. Recognition creeps across your face, followed by resignation, then surrender. Finally, you hang limp against me. Your breathing returns to normal and I lay you back against the couch. No struggling, no roundhouse swings at my jaw. This is not good. You just lay there--too damn close to catatonic.

I make a quick run to the kitchen and return with a glass of water. When I return, you haven't even moved a muscle. This is a switch and one I'd just as soon do without. I wouldn't have turned my back on the old Mulder long enough to blink or breathe and it's breaking my heart that I could hand you your gun and do laps around your apartment blindfolded, without having to worry about you using me for target practice.

"Come on, drink."

You down the entire glass and hand it back to me mechanically. No argument, no comment. You just lay back, ready for slaughter.

"You okay now?" When you don't answer me right away, I slap your cheek lightly. "Answer me. Dammit, talk to me."

"What would you like me to say? Thanks?"

"It would be a start."

"Thanks... For nothing."

Your tone and expression are so flat, I wonder if Scully slipped you something before she left. I know you well enough to know you'd never willingly take a sedative. At least the old Mulder wouldn't. Of course the old Mulder would have me halfway to internal injuries and George Washington Medical Center by now, too.

"Why are you here, Krycek?"

Good question, old friend. Now how the hell do I answer it? 

"Unfinished business?" It's as good an explanation as any I can come up with at the moment.

"Okay, but just promise me one thing. Scully walks away from this." 

Finally, a spark of something in your eyes. At least you still care about something, someone. Why the hell can't it be me?

"With me out of the picture, she'll leave it all behind. She's been hurt enough. No more, promise me."

"And you'd believe me, if I gave you my word?'

"Guess I'd have to." The spark has died, as quickly as it appeared. 

"No one's going to hurt Scully, Mulder."

"Good." Just that one word and you close your eyes. Fuck, what have I done to you? 

"I'm not here to hurt you, either."

"You couldn't if you tried," you answer without opening your eyes.

I allow a rusty chuckle to escape before I answer. "I could hurt you in ways you can't even imagine, Mulder."

"Go for it."

I already have. And seeing you here like this is my punishment. "I'll take a rain-check," I say, trying to sound glib. "It's no fun beating on a corpse."

"Why did you come then? And please don't give me any of that 'You're the only one who can save the word crap'. It's been a really shitty week. I'm not up for playing savior to the human race right now."

"Maybe tomorrow." I say it quietly, brushing back that stubborn shank of hair that always falls in your eyes. If my tenderness unnerves you, you show no signs of it. But then I doubt shooting a Patriot Missile down your shorts would get a rise out of you, right now.

"To kiss me again, then? Maybe finish what you started before you sent me off to play Don Quixote?"

Jesus if you only knew... But then maybe a different kind of shock therapy might be just the trick jumpstart your brain.. your fists... anything. I shift around, throw my body on top of yours and shove my fingers through your hair.

"Is that what you want?" Before you can answer, I crush my mouth against yours. Working your lips apart, I thrust my tongue inside. I kiss you as thoroughly as I know how, passionately, roughly, trying to ignite some spark. With no encouragement or resistance, it quickly becomes a very lonely and twisted experience. Any other time, just the thought of that sinful lower lip against mine is enough to give me a hard-on. Feeling your lips cool and slack now just leaves me feeling sick. I tear my mouth away in disgust.

"Was it good for you?" you ask, eyes still closed, as they have been since I guaranteed Scully's safety.

"The earth moved. At least it would have if I were into necrophilia."

"I could probably hook you up with Donny Pfaster if you're interested," you say. I have no idea, but assume it must be one of the freaks you and Scully hunted down during the last five years. Then you snap your fingers. "Oh wait--I seem to have lost good old Donnie's address, along with the other 5 or 600 psychos I was keeping on file just in case."

"For Christ sake, Mulder. Snap out of it."

"Why, Krycek? Guilty conscience?" The first time anyone has accused me of having a conscience since in a was kid and it has to be you, it has to be a guilty one and you have to be right. "Or so you can send me off on another wild goose chase?"

You don't even look hurt or pissed at the possibility. It's definitely time for some desperate measures and I'm in just the position to use them. I stroke my finger across your cheek, at least 2 days worth of stubble scratching the pad of my finger, sending shockwaves up my arm and across the back of my neck. Then trace a gentler line across your brow, stopping when you he wince. A tiny blister bubbles just over your left brow. That's my Mulder... sucked into the wrong place at the wrong time, burned in a spark shower of someone else's fire storm.

"No wild goose chases tonight. And the world can wait, Tonight I'm here for you." I slide my hand beneath your head and trap it with my palm. Brushing my lips against yours, this time I take my time. I want you to want it and I'll work to see that you do... to put life back in those eyes, if I die in the process. I trace that lower lip with the tip of my tongue, nipping at it and suckling it, quickly moving to the edge of your mouth, dropping a light kiss before I drag my lips through that sexy stubble. Then just as quickly, I sweep my tongue across the outer curve of your ear, working my way gradually to the lobe and sucking it between my lips, teasing it with my teeth.

Finally, a response,. You shiver. It is faint, but it is there and I'm going to run with it. I spread my legs, trapping you between them. This time when I kiss you, I pull you against me, claiming your mouth as my own, thrusting my tongue deep inside, wiping away every last vestige of smoke and ash. And you moan, letting me deepen the kiss, giving as good as you're getting. Come on baby, work with me here. I rock against you slowly, working my hips back and forth nice and easy as our tongues meet and melt. Immediately I realize it's been way too long, and that this is going to be a very short seduction if I can't figure out a way to slow myself down. Reluctantly, I pull my mouth from yours. I rest my lips against your ear and whisper, "This is why I came, Mulder. To remind you what life is really all about."

"Life? What life, Alex. My life was in that office and now it's a heap ashes along with all the rest of paper and plastic."

"That wasn't your life, Mulder. This is your life," I say clasping your hand in mine and laying it on your heart. I kiss you again, harder, putting my entire soul into that kiss, my lips, my tongue. Trying to infuse all of my fire into that kiss. Sliding my hand between us, I palm your cock through your jeans and feel it twitch against my hand as you arch up against it. "This is your life. And from the feel of it, you're far from over."

"Alex... Ah..." You moan and strain harder as I stroke you, slowly teasing but enough to get your full attention.

"You're going come out of those ashes. I'm going to kiss and lick and touch you in all those places that I know make you hot." I can feel the tension building, your breathing changing, muscles tensing again, but no longer in fear. This time in response to my words, my lips, my hand, you circle me with you arms and grind harder against me. I don't know why you're giving in and frankly, I don't care. I want this too much. God, just let me keep it together long enough to finish this... just this.

And please, let me finish it right.

I came here with no expectations other than it would be a toss up whether I left in a body bag or under my own steam. But now that you are letting me do this for you... oh who the hell am I kidding? This is as much for me as for you. More, maybe. I drove that malignant sack of shit across the border. This is as much about penance as it is healing, my penance, your healing. The image of Morley man works incredible magic for my self control, better than a cold shower. I can breath again, forms words, even, though a full sentence might be a stretch.

You reach your hand between us, stroking me through jeans that are quickly becoming a tourniquet to my lower extremities. All of them. And a lightening bolt flashes from my cock, up my spine, before it erupts in a blaze of white light in my brain.

"Uh-uh. "Remember how hot I can make you with my fingers? My lips?" I ask, grabbing your hand and pinning it between us. "I do. I've seen you on fire. And I'm going to see you there again. But I'm not going to let you come. I'm going to bring you right to the edge, again and again, until I see those flames in your eyes again."

You bite your lip and move against me--up and down, back and forth. I want you so badly my teeth hurt, but I refuse to rush this. I'm going to do this my way, slow and easy, making you burn

If I could have my arm back for one hour of my life, this would be it. God, I want to touch you with both hands, cradle your face with them, run ten healthy, happy fingers across your chest.

"Lift your arms up for me." Using my one hand, I rub my fingers across your chest through your shirt, first lightly, just reacquainting myself with long forgotten terrain, then tease a nipple with the edge of my nail. You suck in a deep breath and forget to release it for way too long. Gotta love a man with swimmers lungs. 

"Take you shirt off for me." 

I lift up enough to allow you room to move and you slip the t-shirt over your head. I follow the same pattern, drawing the tips of my fingers across your naked flesh, tracing that hollow just beneath each pec with my tongue and you wriggle beneath me.

"Talk to me Mulder. Do you like that?" Before you can answer, I drag the tip of my tongue up your breast bone, stopping at that hollow at the base of your throat, laving, then kissing it. Your skin is like sun scorched velvet beneath my lips. Jesus, I've missed you, the feel of your smooth, soft skin beneath my lips, your taste. I can't get enough. I work my way back down trapping one nipple between my lips, then teeth while flicking the other with my thumb.

"Alex, I don't..."

"Say anything, just don't say no."

"I just don't think..."

"Don't think baby, tonight just feel."

"That feels incredible," he whispers, close to my ear. "You feel incredible."

His warm, moist breath tickles and excites, driving me back toward that place of no return. Making me want, making me need. Funny, need was a such a foreign emotion until I met you Mulder. I learned long ago if you don't need, you can't be disappointed. But now, my body is awash with a thousand little tell tale signs that betray that old lesson. That hazel green gaze of yours sears straight through to my soul, starting a fire all it's own, low in my gut and my hips set up an involuntary rhythm, in answer to its demand. My fingers tremble as I continue taunting your puckered nipple.

It would take at least three hands to love you properly, to touch you everywhere I want, to make you writhe and moan as I need to. Trying to do it with one hand is an exercise in ultimate frustration. A just reward, I remind myself.

"You now, let me touch you." 

I flinch and snap out a quick, no. Even I can hear the coldness in my voice.

"Alex?' you ask in that thick, complex tone of yours--part hurt innocense, part fear and insecurity.

"It's okay," I murmur by way of apology. "Just let me..."

"I know Alex," you say, skimming your hands slowly up and down my arms. The heat that sears beneath the skin on my right arm only serves to accentuate the cold, lifeless response of space-age plastic on the left. "I knew the last time you were here."

You reach for the hem of my shirt.

"Leave it." It comes too loud, too defensive.

"No." You kiss me long, hard and deep as if it's your turn to infuse a bit of your life force and strength into me. "I want to feel you against me. Don't you want to see if I'm getting hot enough for you?"

With that, you grab the hem of my shirt and bunch it up toward my shoulders. Licking a trail of liquid fire across my flesh, you work first one nipple, them the other until they ache.

"Who's seducing who, here Mulder?" I groan. And when did I totally lose control of this situation, of Mulder. As if I'd ever really have had it if you'd been yourself. Unless you chose to give it to me that is.

"Come on, raise your arm for me." And in that voice, I hear no pity, but acceptance and caring, enough to trust and expose myself to you completely.

You remove my shirt, then gently release the straps of my prosthesis, setting it on the floor at the head of the couch, my guilt and pain set aside with it. Out of sight, out of mind--at least for a little while. You brush your fingers across the stump, then caress it. Pulling me tight against you, you turn to my neck, working your lips around to the pulse thundering there and I find a contentment I've never felt before. As long as we are in each other's arms, I am whole again.

But it's not enough. You flick open the buttons on my jeans, freeing my denim strangled cock, making a quick beeline from the pulse in my throat, to the pulse on the shaft of my cock. Before I can stop you, you capture the tip of my cock with you lips, rolling your tongue around the excruciatingly sensitive ridge and my legs begin to quiver.

"You with me Alex?"

My brain is occupied with other priorities at the moment, so all I can do is nod. Satisfied that you have my full attention, you swallow my cock in one lightening strike, sucking the shaft so hard it feels like you're going to suck my balls right through my cock. Or maybe it's just that I'm afraid I'm going to come so hard, I'll shoot them straight down your throat. Either way, this is all going to be over in about 30 seconds if I don't do something drastic.

"Ease up, Mulder." You maintain that delicious suction and I know it's time to conjure to another vision of my own personal version of salt Peter on two legs--Mr. Morley.

Yep, that wrinkled, skeevy mug does it every time. The image works well enough so that I can find the presence of mind to fist my hand through your hair, using it to lever your mouth from my cock. I push you back down on the couch, trapping those lips again. Not be outdone... it's always a contest between you and me isn't it Mulder... you reach around and knead my ass, working the cheeks. Amazing, but even through denim your hands are as hot as your bare skin against my bare chest.

"Lose the jeans, Alex."

I welcome the reprieve, jump up and shuck jeans, shoes and socks. When I return, I see you've done the same. Now I can worship you, mouth to mouth, mouth to belly, mouth to cock. Damn, don't you ever get tired of always being right, Mulder? I've done one hell of a job so far. Your skin is hot enough to leave a few blisters of its own. Dance to close to the flame, Alex, wind up in the local burn unit. Still, turn about is fair play and my mouth is doing the loving time. I slide my tongue around the tip until it is shiny wet with your pre-cum and my saliva, only then do I suck you into my mouth and down my throat like I'm working a fast food thick shake. You taste lush, dark, bitter, pure Mulder. You cry out and I can feel your excitement arc from the base of his cock, through my lips to the base of mine. Oh yeah, we've got fire burning here now and I know ever erotic trick to keep yours burning.

I nip the tender skin on each inner thigh and your narrow hips. You grab my shoulders in a death grip, trying to force my mouth back where you need it most. 

"You're not talking to me," I tease, when I come up for air. "How am I supposed to know what feel what feels good to you?"

You groan once then manage through a tight voice, "Use your imagination."

"Imagination, huh?" I send you a wicked grin and lift your hips as best I can one handed, licking a hot track in that groove where groin meets thigh.

A low Mulder growl lets me know you appreciate the way my mind works.

"Spread you legs for me, baby," I coax. You're open to me now, vulnerable, completely exposed. And beautiful beyond words.

I think about moving this to his bedroom, but seeing you splayed against black leather, one leg dangling to the floor, the other draped over the couch back knock me breathless. I rock back on my heels and take it in. Christ, I could come just looking at you.

But seeing is not enough. I want to feel, taste and possess. You writhe beneath my mouth as I stab at that tiny stretch of hypersensitive skin near my ultimate goal, work lazy strokes up and down the angry vein beating beneath your pulsing cock.

"Jesus, Krycek," he begs. Reduced to a mass of naked need you are glorious. Everything I could ever want. But not begging. I thought I wanted you whimpering, your dark soul clinging to the edge, begging me to pry your grip free, one finger at a time. But you ask for so little, never getting what you want or need. I can make you burn, but I won't make you beg. Not for what I want to give you so badly, the love you never seem to find, but so deeply deserve.

You are moaning non-stop now and I feel each one, deep in my balls... moaning and so close to the edge. But I'm not ready to let you take that plunge yet.

You gasp then swear, "Alex, don't," as I suckle one ball, gently easing the other back with my fingers.

"Don't what?" I ask, taking my mouth away. "Don't touch you?"

"Damn you."

"Well yes, we already know that, Mulder," I say, licking tiny circles on that sensitive silky skin high on your inner thigh, "Come on baby, talk to me Fox."

Your eyes shoot open and pin me where I lie with that intense hazel gaze.

"Don't stop, please." Your voice is ragged, catching on each word. Your fingers tremble as you run then through the hair at the nape of my neck.

"I'm right here..." I trail my mouth lower still, painting the tight pink bud, watching it pucker, quiver, then bloom. Around the edges, stab, tighter circles, then deeper. Your cock twitches with each penetration, throbs with each stroke. And each beat echoes in my cock, my balls, my heart.

The look of pained rapture on your face is more that I ever expected to see in this or any lifetime. That I am the one bringing you there... I can't wait another minute.

"Lube?"

You grab the bottle from the end table drawer. Ah Mulder, I always knew you were a boy scout. But you're more than prepared. You flip me back. Hovering over me, I can see the flames leaping in those hazel pools. Oh yeah, you're back and you've taken control, of my body, my soul. The one gift I can give you--control of us, of some part of your life that they can't twist or warp to torment you.

And I want you to love me, if not with your heart, at least with your body. Whether it is real or just need and vulnerability, it is the answer to so many of what I had sworn were godless prayers, unanswered and unheard, adrift in cyber-heaven. You move over me, hands, lips and I let you lead.

Has anyone ever told you now truly beautiful you are, Mulder? I wonder. Lips? They go without saying, but shit, who could look at Fox Mulder not admire that lip. You plump that puppy up and you could sell Toyotas to American used car salesmen. Your ass? Fairly obvious to anyone who's ever seen you naked or clothed.

But your hands are the stuff that wet dreams are made of. Just imagining those elegant, tapered fingers pumping into me, curving up and stroking me until they send me into a white hot heaven all my own... Whoa, boy, time for another visit from that nicotine sucking SOB.

"You with me Alex?'

Where the hell else would I be? This is a moment I swore I'd never live to see again--especially since you're usually armed when we have our little get togethers. Unless you've managed to lose your weapon again or your loyal partner decides to wing you. Gotta love a woman with a gun and sense of duty to Uncle Sam, Uncle Walter, Uncle Janet.

I know my brain has gone into ramble mode and thank God, since it's the only thing that's keeping me from coming to hard it'll hit the ceiling fan. You add more lube and 2 of those lovely digits glide deep inside me, stretching me twisting up to treat my prostate for a second lightening round.

"Now, Mulder," I growl.

"Now?"

"What are you a fucking parrot?"

He smiles, so content in his tortuous rhythm.

"I thought I taught you better things to do with your mouth," I whisper it low and hot over and over in your ear.

You laugh. Not one of those wry grins or sarcastic chuckles, but a bonafide ear to ear smile with a full throat laugh that brings tears to my eyes. A smile so honest and open in its intent, it brings a lump to my throat as well, since I've never seen it before and know I probably never will again. That I can give you that smile on one of the worst days of your life, second only to the abductions of the two women you care for most--well hell, you can shoot me now, Mulder and I'll die a very happy man.

Just please, fuck me before you pull the trigger.

"Pull your legs up," you whisper and press that incredible cock of yours against me.

Oh yeah Mulder, just like that. 

"Your turn, Alex, talk to me."

"Come on, all the wa...ah"

I can feel my lips moving, but nothing is coming out. Nothing intelligent anyway. I show you instead, locking my ankles around your ass and pulling you all the way home. I feel trembling, may be me maybe you who can tell. You wrap your hand around my cock stroking, milking, matching the rhythm as you pump deeper and deeper inside me. Your fire is mine now and it bursts through me, scalding in wave after wave and I clamp down around you as I explode again and again.

I can't think, can barely breathe for minutes... hours... who knows? Wrapped in your warm contented arms, who cares? Your eyes are closed and you lay against me contented and I think maybe, just maybe you'll be okay... for today anyway. I would gladly volunteer to provide this kind of physical therapy everyday if that's what it takes to keep you sane. Well, as sane as you ever get.

You shift slightly, brushing your lips across my temple, but your expression betrays the action. I'm almost afraid to ask, but hey, I'm a masochist at heart. Something Mulder and I share... so nice to have things in common. 

"What?"

"Tell me you didn't have anything to do with the fire."

I take a deep sigh and kiss you before I answer. "No, Mulder. I didn't have anything to do with the fire."

A lie, but one we both need to hear... both need to believe, in these last few minutes. You need to believe and I need to give you something to believe in again. Even if it *is* only me, as flawed and damaged as I am.

The spell is broken though, my mission accomplished, fears put to rest for now anyway. 

"I have to go."

"I know."

Prying myself from your embrace is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. The lose almost as painful as the loss I suffered in Tunguska. I dress quickly as you sit naked, stunned, unsure what to do or say. I put on my jacket and pull the disk resting in my pocket.

"Here."

"What's this?"

"A start." I wrap my hand around your neck and pull you in for one last hot kiss. 

"Alex...."

Please Mulder whatever you do don't thank me. I don't think I could handle that right now. Instead I bolt for the door before you can finish. You're back, maybe not 100 percent, but functioning. And the file I've given you, Samantha's file that I copied when I was still a nice nerdy fed, will add more fuel to the fire.

It is dark outside now and suddenly I realize I have no particular place to go. The alley across the street, my home for the last 2 days beckons and I hunker back into the shadows and garbage where I am at home. 

And I watch. For the light in the window, your figure silhouetted, anything to prolong that thread bare connection. 

It's going to be a long night, but not so long, now that I know. Now that I've seen and felt you. And given you the lie and means to go on.


End file.
